Say Good-bye To This Heart of Mine
by Mistiec
Summary: It's her and Rachel Berry against the world.
1. Chapter 1

**TITLE: Say Good-Bye to This Heart Of Mine (1/4)  
AUTHOR: Misty Flores**  
Email: mistiec_flores

**GENRE: **Rachel/Santana, mentions of Brittany/Santana; Rachel/Finn, Santana/Puck - Glee  
**RATING: **Mature  
**WORD COUNT: **Around 14500

**SUMMARY: **It's her and Rachel Berry against the world.  
**NOTES: **AU/Future!Fic. Realized I hadn't actually posted this on even though I wrote this ages ago, and that's just sad for me.

**WARNINGS: **Character Death. And as much as it seems like it, this isn't really a zombie fic. But it's dark. Spoilers for early season 2.

* * *

_Every aching wound will cauterize and bruise  
In memory of what we used to call in love  
And only time will tell if violins will swell  
In memory of what we used to call in love  
Used to call in love_  
-Fell In Love Without You, Motion City Soundtrack

* * *

"Do you ever think about them?" Rachel's voice, barely more than a whisper, drifts through the darkness. She's quiet, but Santana still tenses, teeth grinding as she lies still and listens for any answering groans; the shuffling of steps.

There is nothing. Not crickets. Not birds. Nothing but the quiet of the night in a world that stinks like death.

She can't relax; she's forgotten how. But she exhales slowly and tightens her grip on the handle of her machete. "Who?" she finally asks, eyes open and locked onto the ceiling, feeling the brush of Rachel's arm as the other girl reaches up to scratch an itch on her nose.

Rachel is quiet for a moment, and even at barely a decibel, her tone is melodic as she quietly elaborates. "You know who."

Santana's breath catches. She swallows down hard. Rachel always gets like this at night. She's supposed to be sleeping; conserving her energy so they can move in the daytime. Instead, Rachel transforms. She stops being the woman who travels with Santana; fights with Santana, and becomes the girl she was; romantic and whimsical and dreaming of a world that doesn't exist anymore. Of a world that seems like a god-damned dream.

The anger that she absorbs feels like a slow burn.

"No," she says sharply. "Now shut up and get some sleep."

Santana can hear an uneven breath before Rachel shifts against her. An arm smoothes across her shoulder and suddenly she feels the warmth and weight of Rachel Berry pressed into her side.

Rachel's lip brushes the outer shell of her ear as she resettles.

"It's funny isn't it?" Rachel says quietly. "How much you can forget?" Santana doesn't respond. She doesn't have to. "Santana, I'm afraid I've forgotten how to sing."

Two years ago, a lifetime ago, Santana would have sneered at such a ludicrous statement. She would have taken the heartfelt admission and given it no importance; instead of support she would have offered disdain and mockery, and everyone would be okay with it because it's just high school and Rachel Berry had it coming. In the past, she didn't need Rachel Berry, because there was a blond by her side who loved her no matter what she did.

But it's the present, not the past, and instead of all this Santana feels tears sting the back of her eyes and a hard lump form in her throat. She exhales unsteadily and with a slight motion, turns her head, until her forehead rests against Rachel's hair and her nose inhales the heavily human scent of a woman in need of a shower.

"Me too."

The word is mumbled, barely audible, but Rachel finds strength in it. She shifts in tighter until they're molded together: hips tilted against hips, breasts fitted between breasts, and Santana can feel the soft breath of another woman moist underneath her jaw.

They're clinging to each other on hard floor like Siamese twins and it's so damn vulnerable Santana wants to shudder.

She doesn't.

Rachel Berry is all she has left, and in their new horror of a world, it's exactly what she needs.

* * *

Santana's world changes in exactly two and a half minutes, when Rachel Berry accidentally saves her life, by pulling her into the empty Glee choir room.

Santana is a senior, head cheerleader, and aside from a spat with Brittany, on top of the damn world. She's months away from graduating, months away from leaving Lima and taking Brittany with her. Months away from the start of her brand new life.

Nothing else seems to matter when she crosses her arms and glares at the panicky diva who, has decided that _now_ is the time to lecture Santana on her amorous ways.

"Touch me again and die," Santana snarls without greeting.

Rachel goes on, undeterred. "You can't keep doing this," she says, posture perfect even as her fingers cling to her own skirt nervously.

Santana's perfect brow furrows. It'd be amusing if it weren't so infuriating that Rachel Berry is actually attempting to tell her what to do. "Excuse me?"

"We're a week away from Regionals," Rachel's voice grows firm; bossy. "We need to be one cohesive unit if we have a prayer of beating Vocal Adrenaline." Santana doesn't bother to disguise her disgusted sigh, causing Rachel's eyes to flash in reaction. "And the last thing we need is a bi-sexual love triangle tearing Glee Club apart."

Santana's smirk stalls. Her eyes dart up and lock onto Rachel's. The other girl doesn't shrink back at all. Instead she squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up, looking damn fucking proud of herself.

The fabric of Santana's uniform suddenly itches. Her face burns. Hands curl into fists as she answers coolly, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

That's meant to be a warning, and it's more than most people would get. Santana may be pissed, but she isn't stupid. She understands that putting Rachel Berry in the hospital a week before Regionals would earn her the ire of the entire Glee Club, which she normally wouldn't give a damn about, except for that part of her that wants desperately to win too.

It's the only reason Rachel is getting any sort of leniency for daring to call her on the mess she's in with Brittany and Mike. For daring to voice it at all.

"Don't I?" Wearing a smug expression that is just begging to be punched, Rachel only steps closer. "Mike's tripping over his steps, scared to even come near you and Brittany keeps faking about being sick; she's not even trying to sing anymore! And you're increasingly desperate attempts to break them up is evolving from disruptive to destructive. The entire Glee Club can see it, and we've had enough drama. Leave them alone."

A shudder of absolute fury ripples up her spine.

"Watch it," she manages.

"Santana, no one will say this to you because no one has the guts, but as captain, I feel you should know that you're acting like a spoiled brat who lost her toy, and it's pathetic."

The slap across Rachel's face cracks like a whip.

It's over before Santana can even register she's done it, but her palm is stinging and Rachel's eyes are wide and watering. Plump lips open in shock, a delicate hand rises to the rising welt on the side of her cheek.

Santana's throat has closed on itself as they stare at each other in stunned silence.

"Did that help?" Rachel asks, fighting her tears.

"Yes."

A piercing wail, the sound of a fire alarm, rips through the hall, decimating their tension and causing Rachel to jump closer to her.

Santana shrugs her off, turning to eye the halls with bored exasperation.

"False alarm," she snipes. "Puck playing another senior prank."

But chasing after it come the screams, the pounding of panicked footsteps, and then from the hallway, an explosion that throws them both off their feet and flings them over the piano.

Santana's head cracks against the ivory keys, and she blacks out as she lands in a crumpled heap, tangled with Rachel.

She wakes up next to an unconscious Rachel with a blistering headache, second degree burns on her arm, and a lung full of ash.

What was once the hallway is now a pile of dead bodies and rubble.

Later, she'll find out that Sue Sylvester was responsible for the bomb, spouting matter-of-factly about a deadly virus that's turning people into cannibals.

"I had to stop it," she says, even though the only casualties they can find the remains of teachers and students. She's arrested.

Santana and Rachel end up in an ambulance, and she's in such a fog she can't even dial a phone to try to find Brittany.

It doesn't matter.

Her world goes to hell immediately after.

* * *

She sees Brittany in her dreams.

It's odd, because she misses her parents as much as she misses Brittany, but they're quiet. Brittany is not.

Santana sleeps fitfully now, but when she does manage it, there remains one constant: Brittany, wearing that Angel costume that Rachel made them both put on for her horrendously bad 'Run, Joey, Run' video. Brittany always glows.

In the months after the outbreak, Brittany was vivid: every detail was crystal clear, and though Santana could never touch her, she could smell her, drink her in.

Lately, the image has grown dull; fuzzy, and privately, it scares the hell out of her.

Her eyes open the same time every morning. Santana comes out of sleep as quickly as she went into it. She's warm. Rachel's still molded against her, but her body feels heavier now. She's a deep sleeper, unlike Santana.

She untangles herself from Rachel and stretches out her stiff back. Her arms go high above her head, and she feels her vertebrate pop. She winces in reaction and brings her hands down.

Scar tissue, remnants of a burn, lines Santana's arm like one of those gloves Tina used to wear. Santana's still vain enough to hate it.

Rachel's dark hair spills over the pack they've shared as a pillow; her cheeks are pale. In this moment, she's still the girl she was: high school Rachel Berry, bossy and unconventionally beautiful.

Santana hesitates to wake her. When the errant thought flits across her mind that this is because she wants to remember, she grimaces and leans forward, gripping Rachel's shoulder and shoving.

"Come on."

Rachel stirs. Her eyes blink open, and when she stares up at Santana, her gaze is almost uncomprehending, as if she doesn't know what she's doing here.

Awareness sets in as the alertness causes her expression to darken and she pushes off the blanket. Their eyes lock and they share a small smile.

It is the only ritual they have. An unspoken acknowledgement to the truth: they've survived another night.

This morning, the look goes on too long. Santana feels herself flush, and glances away. She holds out a granola bar, and when Rachel takes it, she ignores the brush of her fingers against hers.

"We have to get moving." Rachel's voice is quiet, and it's unnerving, even now. Rachel's voice was meant to fill concert halls, not whisper into nothingness. "Have you seen them?"

Santana doesn't speak at first. She lifts her rifle into her hands and snaps the cartridge into place, glancing out the window of their temporary shack into the ghost town that they've drifted into.

It's not like it was before. They haven't run into a Crazie in days, and even then, it's just stragglers. But Santana knows better than to think they're safe, and she's made a point of staying away from any sign of people congregating.

"Not yet," she says, and hears movement behind her as Rachel puts together their things.

When Rachel starts to hum, she glances back sharply.

Rachel freezes, eyes wide as the sound cuts off in her throat. Their gazes lock, and Rachel's throat visibly bobs with her hard swallow.

It was thoughtless. Rachel hums because there's always a song inside of her. Santana knows that.

It was something that used to be celebrated.

Now, when they're the hunted, it can get her killed.

"Let's go," Santana says. Rachel ducks her head and comes forward. She slides Santana's machete into her belt, packing her like she's strapping her in for school, and offers a resolute smile.

* * *

Sue Sylvester's virus is real. It spreads so fast and infects people with what they eventually call 'the crazies'. Panic comes with it.

People start dying.

Then comes the quarantine.

Their ambulance never makes it to the hospital. Four blocks away, it's sideswiped by a speeding car, some maniac who is trying to get out of town.

Their driver is killed instantly. He's unwittingly driven them into the heart of the infestation.

Rachel, Santana, and an EMT named Barry stumble through a rioting section of town overrun with people in various stages of sickness. Holed up in the bathroom of a convenience store, with a stolen phone, they try to reach their parents. Brittany. Finn. Quinn. Puck.

They can't even get a dial tone. Barry, fighting a vicious cough from a bite given to him by one of the sick people rioting outside, takes a turn for a worse.

They try to take care of him. He loses consciousness after an hour, and then when Santana tries to slap him out of it, wakes up.

He turns on them with a viciousness that Santana has never seen. In a moment, he goes from hacking up a lung to lunging at her, eyes wide and bloodshot, mouth leaking fluid.

In a bloody and burnt cheerleader's outfit, Santana fights for her life. She grips hard at his shoulder, keeping his teeth away from her neck, jerking up a knee between his body and her own and with a cry of absolute agony, twisting her hips to get him off of her.

It's not enough.

She hears a sickening squelch, and suddenly his eyes roll up and he drops, dead weight against her. Rachel stares down at her, frozen in shock. In her hands is a bloody bat.

"Get him off," she whispers, panting hard as she repeats the phrase, until the adrenaline gets the better of her and she begins to scream. "GET HIM OFF."

The screeching that voices her lost control seemed to regain Rachel's, and suddenly Barry the dead EMT is pulled off of her by his murderer. Rachel straddles her, grabbing hold of her, keeping her down.

"Did he bite you?"

"GET OFF."

"Stop."

"GET OFF of ME."

"STOP!" Rachel tries to hold her, but Santana's fists fly, and Rachel reels back when she connects with a fist. The other girl topples off of her.

Strangely, hitting Rachel brings her back to sanity. She's sprawled back, heart threatening to beat out of her chest, burnt body blazing in pure pain, and she has no idea what to do.

"Did he bite you?"

Sucking in a gulping breath, Santana shakes her head no. "What's happening?"

Rachel stares at her quietly.

There are no answers. Just the overwhelming panic; the pure fear.

With a jerk of her chin, Santana stares down at the dead body of the EMT. He looks like a shadow of what he was. His body is grotesquely distorted, neck swollen and veins bulging.

"Sue," Rachel breathes. "She said something about a virus…Remember? She said it was transmitting through the bite."

"That's bullshit." Sue has always been a conspiracy nut. Who else would have demanded that Brazilian Jujitsu be part of their cheerleading curriculum 'just in case'? Sue was always paranoid, but that doesn't mean she's ever right. "Goddamn," she whispers. "All those people…"

"We have to find weapons," she hears Rachel say. "Backpacks. Emergency supplies. Then we need to get to the police."

Santana's arms are raw with blisters, bandaged hurriedly by Barry and torn off again when he attacked her an hour later.

Feeling lost, Santana can only watch dumbly as Rachel gets to her knees and pulls the first-aid kit from underneath Barry's body and pulls out bandages. She crawls beside her and unwraps a gauze.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Santana shoves her off, struggles to get to her feet. "I need to call my parents. I need to call Brittany."

"They may be dead!"

"Shut up!"

"Santana, I'm worried too, but look outside! This is real! We could die! He just tried to kill us!"

Santana stares at her, Rachel Berry with her wide, scared eyes and bossy, shrill voice. "And what, you want us to survive this together? Grab some guns and a backpack and pretend we're in the new Resident Evil movie?"

Rachel's chin come up, and after three years in Glee club, she understands the expression. This is Rachel at her most serious; her most determined.

The only difference is that Rachel's eyes are shiny with unshed tears, and her lips tremble.

"Santana, this is real. We need to get out of here, make sure we're safe before we can save anyone else. This part of town is overrun. Maybe if we can get to the hospital or my dad's house…"

"I don't need you."

"We need each other. We need to get each other out." Rachel says this like she's reciting a line in some disaster movie; all drama and imaginary score behind her. It's as dramatic as Santana's ever seen.

She swallows hard, feeling cotton-mouthed and sucking in air. Rachel's lips press together in a thin frown and then with a steadying breath, shuffles forward again, ignoring Santana's hiss of pain as she plucks off Barry's mangled bandages and applies her own.

The hospital is overrun. So is the police station.

By the time they find a car and try to get to McKinley, the quarantine has begun and they're forced into a containment unit.

The rest is a blur of chaos and a struggle to survive. People die around them, but Rachel Berry and Santana Lopez don't.

They don't get infected. They don't get raped. If they get attacked, they fight back.

One year later, their environment has turned into a standard post-apocalyptic-D-movie nightmare, complete with cannibals, bandits and America the Wasteland.

It's her and Rachel Berry against the fucking world.

In her more determined moments, Santana likes to think they're kicking its ass.

* * *

They've turned into drifters. Two young women, attractive and alone, are bait for not just the Crazies, but the bandits. It's never safe to stay in the same place, and so they move. They stay away from cities; by now most are overrun by either bandits or crazies. They head North. The colder it gets, the less Crazies there are. It's slow going.

By an unspoken agreement, they trust no one but each other.

It's ironic that everything that made Rachel annoying has now made her vital. Her determination, her ambition, her focus and ruthlessness; it marries perfectly with those qualities inside of her, and though even now Santana won't admit it, what made her a popular bitch and Rachel an outcast seem eerily similar.

So yeah, it's her and Rachel Berry on bicycles, heading through a forest that's surprisingly warm this time of the year. They haven't seen another person in days, and they finally start to hear birds chirping, which is a very good sign.

It lightens the mood. The heaviness.

Maybe it's because of that, because it seems like just another day and it's been a year of this, that when they find a trickling stream and stop to rest, Rachel gets too comfortable and starts talking.

"Do you think we would have won?"

Santana's crouched against the stream, filling a canteen, letting the cold water splash over her hands and turning her fingers icy. She tosses Rachel a look, but the other girl isn't looking back.

Rachel is only ten feet away from her, hopping lightly on one foot and executing a perfect pirouette. Her arms extend out in front of her. In one hand, she holds a crossbow, and she uses it to bend forward, dip in the rhythm of whatever song is playing in her head.

Santana realizes what she's doing when Rachel pivots and then pauses.

She's performing the choreography to one of their Regionals pieces, a Tom Petty song called 'You Don't Know How it Feels' that Mr. Schuester made them learn.

"What are you doing?" In the year they've been alone together, they haven't done this except at night. Reminiscing about the past is forbidden. So is god-damn dancing.

"I think we would have won," Rachel says instead, and keeps going, dancing against the edge of the stream, twisting and shifting. "Do you remember this?"

"Rachel, stop it." The moment feels bittersweet, and Santana swallows it down, hoping it'll ferment into anger. Anger's easier than the memories.

"Vocal Adrenaline without Jessie wasn't as strong, and we were stronger than ever. We would have won for sure. Especially with this routine."

Her fingers have gone numb, and it hurts. Santana grimaces and stands up, dropping in the water purification tablet and screwing on the lid of her canteen.

"Does it matter?"

"It's nice to speculate."

"Forget speculation – do you still think that matters anymore?" Because it doesn't. They're living like freaking wild men, with rifles and shotguns and bows and arrows, and Regionals seems like another lifetime ago.

And yet Rachel dances like it was yesterday. Boldly and without reservation.

She catches Santana's glare, and those plump lips pull into a smirk. "Don't tell me you don't remember it."

"We don't have time for this."

Rachel's brow arches. "_Let me run with you tonight_," she begins, voice low and melodic. "_I'll take you on a moonlight ride. _"

"Rachel."

"_There's someone I used to see –_"

She dances toward Santana, and grabs hold of her wrists, pulling her into her movement.

"_But she don't give a damn for me-_"

Despite herself, Santana finds herself reluctantly participating as Rachel's male lead, when Rachel grabs hold of her fingers and flings herself out.

"_So let's get to the point-_"

Rachel reels herself back in, until she's tucked underneath Santana's arm, face inches from her own, eyes locking onto hers magnetically.

There's a pause, quiet and pregnant, until Santana finds herself rolling her eyes, and answering back, "-let's roll another joint."

Rachel's returning smile is almost blinding, and suddenly they're seventeen again, as the steps fall into place, and their voices blend into a rusty, but still on-pitch harmony.

"_And turn the radio loud, I'm too alone to be proud. And you don't know how it feels. You don't know how it feels to be me._"

She remembers Finn's part as instinctively as she remembers her own, and as Rachel's fingers grasp hers tight and they sing to the spring like it's a captive audience, she's transformed.

She hears the music, in sync with Rachel, and it's loud and vibrant.

Their voices fade, as Rachel twirls against in her arms and then they're flush against each other.

The music in her head stops.

Santana's eyes are wide with astonishment, but the look on Rachel's is like nothing she's seen before. A heart beats between them, loud and insistent, and Santana isn't sure whose it is.

"I guess that answers that."

Rachel's mouth quirks.

"You can still sing," Santana elaborates, and the corners of Rachel's eyes crinkle.

"You can still smile." Rachel's fingers press against her lips, and the smile fades. Rachel's touch doesn't.

It's quiet, and Santana is aware of nothing but Rachel's mouth, hovering closer.

The snap of a branch is so loud it startles her, jerks her head back, and that's when she realizes that it's TOO quiet. No birds. Nothing except for a snapping branch. And then another.

Rachel's eyes dart to hers, and the fear rises like bile in her throat as they release each other and scramble, grabbing hold of their bags and bicycles.

They do what they always do, a lesson learned from months in quarantine and running – they flee.

* * *

Rachel makes them stop at dusk. It's stupid to travel at night. The Crazies can see better than they can, and if they're human and normal, they'd be as blind as they are.

But there's no fire. Nothing but a dug out concave of dirt that they both lie in, pressed against each other as Santana takes first watch, hand on her rifle, staring into the blackness.

A hand presses into her shoulder. "There's no one coming."

"Shut up."

"They would have caught up to us two hours ago if they had kept up. They were on foot and they can't track us at night. Get some sleep."

Santana's eyes are burning with exhaustion, but she doesn't respond. Her body remains stiff under Rachel's touch.

She hears a soft sigh, feels the breath against her bare arm.

Rachel's fingers smooth from her back to her shoulders. Fingertips delicately move across her bicep.

"You've got goosebumps."

Her teeth grind in reaction. "Rachel, shut the hell up already. It's your god-damn singing that got us into this to begin with."

Rachel's body stiffens behind her. The touch withdraws.

Santana feels her stomach clench, and she can't resist a nasty, "We would have lost."

Rachel remains quiet.

"Regionals," she goes on, unable to stop herself. "We would have lost. Do you know why?"

Rachel's body shifts against hers. "Tell me."

Santana's fingers twitch against her rifle. "You had some nerve, you know that? Lecturing me about Brittany." The name brings with it a stab of pain; she almost stumbles over it, but it helps. "When you had a fucking harem."

Rachel snorts behind her. It's undignified and so anti-Rachel Berry, it throws her off. "I have no idea what you are inferring."

"I'm _inferring_ that you whored around like a slut," she snaps, very nearly losing her impulse to keep herself quiet. "Jesse, Finn and Puck? You went between them like a ping-pong ball."

"That's not true. I cared for them all deeply."

"You didn't give a shit about anybody. All you cared about what was how they made you feel."

"It's interesting to hear the pot calling the kettle black," Rachel responds a moment later. "Isn't that why you were so desperate to break up Brittany and Mike?"

Her eyes close as she winces. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"I know more than you think. You just assumed she'd always be there, didn't you? There for you to take advantage of. Always loyal to you like a dog until you realized Mike might someday mean more to her than you."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You got scared because you knew that no matter what Brittany was the only person in the world who could ever love you."

When the tears spill onto her cheeks, it surprises her. Her vision has gone watery without her notice, and suddenly Santana feels her head dipping, her rifle lowering, the hurt flaring deep within her to such a crescendo she can't breathe.

"… Santana."

"Go to hell," she manages, and sucks in a lungful of breath, trying hard to get herself under control.

"I'm sorry." Rachel's hips angle forward, hands against her shoulders to pull her back into a sudden crushing embrace. Santana fights it. Her eyes shut tight and her muscles flex, but then a warm mouth presses to her shoulder. She feels another kiss, open and wet, angled into the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes flutter open, and she exhales raggedly. Rachel's breasts press into her back, and fingers smooth dark hair from the nape of her neck before lips slowly press just underneath her jaw, the moist swipe of a tongue against her skin causing a shudder that isn't from cold.

Hauntingly aware of the contact, Santana can't suppress the agonized moan that rips from her throat when it suddenly goes away. Rachel only shifts back to pull at her right shoulder, gently forcing Santana to shift; turn over.

Their legs tangle, and through the darkness, Santana stares with wet eyes into Rachel's dark orbs and flushed face. Delicate fingers reach up to trace Santana's bone structure, smoothing from her angled cheeks to her mouth.

The touch pauses, and Santana feels quietly overcome, until the other woman hooks her calf with her foot, and pulls her in closer.

Rachel kisses like Brittany: open and without reservation. Santana's head tilts, and when Rachel's tongue delicately swipes against her lower lip, it causes such a jolt inside her she moans, hand reaching immediately for Rachel's nape, fisting at Rachel's hair and tugging hard.

She kisses Rachel without finesse. She is clumsy and sloppy and out of practice, but Rachel sighs against her mouth and slides her arms around her, clawing at her back and drawing her closer.

She pushes, until Rachel is flat on the dank earth and she's on top, settling into Rachel's curves and kissing her deeply.

Fumbling lower, Santana reaches underneath Rachel's thighs and grabs hold of the cotton fabric of her pants, pulling wide until she is pressed intimately against Rachel's groin. When she rocks into her, Rachel breaks the kiss with a soft cry that goes deep inside her, electrifying her.

She surges forward again, grinding herself against Rachel, swallowing their mingled moans with her mouth. Rachel's hips tilt with her, finding her rhythm.

Rachel's arms press down at her back, keeping her plastered against her as they move. "Fuck," she hears, feels it against her lips, and she finds herself smirking, because maybe some part of her is rubbing off.

She breaks off the kiss to lick her way down Rachel's neck, and she feels like a flustered boy as she fumbles between them and jerks up Rachel's shirt to find her breast. The nipple is already hard, and Santana isn't gentle as she jerks with her fingers, flipping the cup over until she's palming the bare breast, rolling the dark nub between her fingers. Rachel arches into it, and Santana groans, because it's been a long time since-

Dull nails rake down her shoulders as she shifts, lifting and lowering just as quickly to blindly find the exposed breast with her mouth. Her tongue swipes against the nipple greedily.

Rachel's clawing fingers finally manage to do their work. Santana's shirt is up to just underneath her shoulders, and when Rachel whines softly, Santana jerks up, allowing Rachel to yank it over her head.

"Thank you," Rachel whispers with a hint of aggravation, like she's been trying to undress her for a while, and Santana only smirks, biting down at Rachel's petulant frown and thrusting forward again, fumbling for Rachel's shirt and skidding up, taking Rachel's bra with it as she jerks it over Rachel's head, catching Rachel's chin in the process. "Ow!"

"Sorry," Santana says immediately, but she's not, and it doesn't matter because Rachel just grabs hold of her head and brings her back down to french her, sucking her tongue so deeply into Rachel's mouth Santana feels like she's deep throating her.

Rachel shoves her bra straps down her arms with such enthusiasm it leaves scratches on her arms, and when she fumbles at her back, Santana loses patience and reaches behind to unsnap the clasp herself.

"I'll do it," she hisses against Rachel's lips, and then the bra breaks free and she presses down and shudders, as Rachel's nipples drag against hers.

It's been two fucking years, and Santana hasn't even thought about sex in that long. It's weird and unnerving, but true, because there's been nothing but death and fear and running like scared animals, and yet she feels bare breasts against hers and Rachel's tongue in her mouth and a blazing pussy pushing and grinding against her own and she realizes now that she's starved.

She's THROBBING between her legs, and it's making her movements jerky, losing her momentum as she fumbles blindly between them, snapping at the clasps of Rachel's pants and shoving down. When her palm finally presses against the damp curls between Rachel's legs, Santana freezes. Her eyes shut tight, forehead tipping against Rachel's as she groans, low and rough.

"You're so wet," she whispers, and hears Rachel whimper, fingernails digging deep into her biceps when she ventures between the folds, knuckle curving down into searing heat. She trips against Rachel's hardened clit, and Rachel spasms against her.

Her mouth finds Rachel's, lips pressed lightly to hers, eyes open and watching carefully as she dips lower, until she's sinking into Rachel Berry.

A soft sound, something like a meow, whimpers from Rachel's open mouth, before she erupts in huge, loud pants, chest rising and falling against hers. Her eyes stay focused on Santana, and she looks both lost and found and overwhelmed.

Rachel's tight. So fucking tight.

It sets off a small, insistent warning in her head. "Have you done this before?"

It's more curiosity than actual concern. Her finger shifts, rubbing against Rachel, and Rachel utters a groan, head tilting back, body rocking against her.

"Once," Rachel answers, eyes fluttering open. "Don't stop."

She doesn't. She lowers her head, swipes her tongue against Rachel's sweaty neck, and presses in another finger.

Five minutes later, impaled on Santana's fingers and tangled with her in their tiny little foxhole, Rachel comes hard. It occurs to Santana that even in orgasm, Rachel sounds like she's singing.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART II**

Rachel and Santana have slept pressed together since almost the first week. It's borne out of necessity. They need it for warmth. They need it for security.

That's all okay. She and Rachel are survivors, and it means doing stuff like cuddling has nothing to do with intimacy and everything about making it through another day.

It feels different now, and it bothers her.

Rachel's half-naked on top of her, hand against her naked breast. Their legs are interwoven, and their pants, zippers down and flies open, sit barely above their hips.

They had sex, and now they're cuddling, and habit alone makes Santana feel damn uncomfortable with the idea.

The only person she's ever cuddled with after sex is Brittany.

But she's boneless, and despite her misgivings, Santana smooths her hand over Rachel's bare shoulder and pulls the blanket over them, keeping her close.

Rachel shifts. Her hand comes up to press against Santana's cheek. From Rachel's fingers wafts the odor of sex; pungent and strong.

A part of Santana's mind wants to explode at the thought of Rachel Berry's hands being inside her. Another shudders in memory of how hard she made her come.

"Go to sleep," she hears Rachel murmur, and feels a kiss press against her collarbone. "We have to get up early."

Santana glares at her, a useless endeavor considering she can't see her. Rachel just shifts against her.

Sated and spent, Santana doesn't have the energy to hold the grudge.

Her eyes close and she drifts off to sleep.

Brittany doesn't come to her at all.

* * *

She's awoken by Rachel's manhandling, hard shoves against her shoulder that bring her out of a deep sleep.

"WAKE UP!" she hears, a hard hiss against her ear that makes her wince.

"What?" she slurs, trying to shake the cobwebs out of her head, and then wincing at her own stiffness.

"Someone's outside."

The frightened admission jerks her alert. Her eyes lock with Rachel's, then to the opening of their tiny alcove – covered by a dark blanket that would render it invisible at night, but certainly not in daytime.

Outside, she hears the snap of twigs, the crunch of leaves. Heavy, sure footed steps that can't belong to a Crazie, but could belong to any sort of bandit.

"Shit," she breathes, and fumbles for her shirt, throwing it over her head and grabbing hold of her rifle, shuffling forward and motioning silently with Rachel to do the same.

If it's one, they can take them. If it's two? Or more? They're trapped.

The person comes closer. Rachel settles beside her, fingers trembling as she struggles to cock the rifle.

Through a tear in the fabric, Santana sees a dark set of boots, the tip of an AK-47.

Holy fuck.

The figure comes closer. One feet. Then two.

The blast from Rachel's rifle makes her jump, nearly setting hers off in the process.

It skids a bullet at the intruder's feet. He lets out a sharp, surprised whoop.

"Don't come any closer!" Rachel cries out, voice wavering, then holding steady. "We'll shoot."

There's quiet, and suddenly Santana's heart drops when she hears, "Rachel? Rachel Berry?"

Rachel's head swivels with an astonished expression.

"Rachel? It's me! It's okay! Come out!" The gun drops, falling into the leaves and twigs. "I'm unarmed."

The voice is one they haven't heard in two years. Rachel reaches for the curtain.

"Rachel," Santana snaps.

Rachel ignores her.

Santana curses, and stumbles out after her, rifle high and settled against her shoulder, squinting against the sunlight in an attempt to aim her rifle, keep her target.

"Santana? Is that you?"

The gun nearly drops in her shock.

Staring at them with a dirt-smudged face and a smile that presses dimples into his cheeks is Finn Hudson.

* * *

Finn still smiles like one of Peter Pan's Lost Boys, and it makes him look like a man-child, even with his crew cut and his heavily muscled body. When Rachel launches herself into her arms, sobbing like the drama queen she is, he almost engulfs her.

"I can't believe it's really you. I thought I'd lost you forever."

They hold each other so long and so tightly, Santana feels damn invisible, and when they finally pull apart to gaze into each other's eyes, she realizes exactly who Rachel's first was.

She loses patience and snaps acidly, "What are you doing here?"

It breaks whatever spell they're under, and though Finn makes an attempt to hug her, he seems to rethink the idea when she doesn't lower the rifle.

"You guys gave me a really good chase, you know that?" He's all ruddy cheeks and shining eyes. "If it weren't for the bike tracks I would have lost you completely."

Rachel gasps. "You were the one at the creek?!" Finn grins, and Santana swallows, finally lowering the rifle when Rachel smacks him hard on his arm. "You scared the hell out of us!"

"Explain," Santana says smoothly, and when he glances at her and sees her expression, he does.

Rubbing at his shorn head, he smiles at Rachel. "I was out scouting and heard you singing. At first I thought I was going crazy. Like the voices in my head finally got the better of me. But then I went toward it and it only got louder, and it was our Regionals song and I'd recognize that voice anywhere, Rachel. I couldn't believe it." Once again, his voice fades and he stares hungrily at Rachel.

"Neither can I," Santana answers dryly, when Rachel's too overwhelmed to respond. "What the hell are you doing way out here in the boonies anyway?"

"What does it look like?" He reaches down and proudly picks up his assault rifle. "I joined up. We're hunting down the rest of the Crazies." He trails off and stares at them both. "I just… I can't believe… you two. I never expected to find you two. Not together. Not at all. We thought everyone was dead."

"So did we," Rachel answers, and stares at Santana, goggle-eyed, because it's fucking Finn Hudson.

Santana sucks in her breath and tries to exhale the tension that's building up inside of her.

"We need to get moving," she says, and turns away.

Finn helps them break camp. He chatters at them like an excited chipmunk, telling him that after the explosion, he and Puck fought off the Crazies and joined up with the local militia.

"It's not like it was before, guys. The government finally got their shit together! Now it's just clean up duty. When we get back to the base-"

"Wait, what?" Santana interrupts, hands on her hips as she comes up behind Rachel, pressing into her shoulder. "When we what?"

Finn blinks, looking at them both blankly. "You're coming with me, aren't you?" Rachel turns to look at her, but her expression remains enigmatic. "Guys," Finn blurts, tumbling through in exasperation. "You can't stay out here! It's not safe!"

"We've survived this long, haven't we?"

"Yeah, and major props to you and all, but we're not like… cavemen! You're like… two chicks! Hot ones!" Santana rolls her eyes and evades looking at Rachel's pouting lips. "Hey, we're got the bandits more or less under control, but they're still out there. And they're still taking women."

"We know, Finn." Rachel's voice is patient, gentle. "We've run into them before."

"Then you're lucky! Come on." Santana reaches down, and flings her pack onto her back, lids lowered as Finn comes up to Rachel, takes her hands in his humongous ones. "Rachel, I'm not going to let you go just when I've found you again."

Her hands grip onto her strap, and she waits for Rachel to look at her with that morose, dramatic expression. "Three is safer than two, Santana. We should at least check it out." Santana quietly stares at her. "Where else are we going to go?"

It's logical and necessary, and Santana is fucking pouting.

She sighs and manages a nod. "Yeah, sure." Finn's smile lights up his entire face, and Santana feels suddenly so resentful that her question blurts out of her without warning. "Finn, where's Brittany?"

His expression freezes. He turns and stares at her, and his eyes are so mournful that Santana knows his answer before he says it.

"I'm sorry, San," he says as gently as he can. "She didn't make it."

Santana told herself a long time ago that she was too pragmatic to hope. That she could put Brittany with the dead because that's most certainly where she was. Brittany barely had enough instinct to survive high school, and that was with Santana watching out for her. There was no way she could survive this.

In spite of that, in the face of Finn's confirmation, Santana's insides shatter.

Across the camp, next to Finn, her soul mate, Rachel stares with wide, watery eyes. Her expression is all unspeakable pity and sympathy.

Santana looks away from her. With a tight, rigid body, she nods her thanks to Finn and turns toward her bicycle.

Rachel breaks the tension by asking Finn to show them the way, and he does. Wordlessly, feeling like she's in a fog, Santana follows.

* * *

She holds it together until they get to Finn's campsite. He boasts to Rachel how the area is wired with wireless security and they're safe for about a hundred yards. He builds a fire and shows off his tent and props one up for Santana. He doesn't say it, but it's clear he thinks Rachel will share his.

It's all so civilized and sweetly Finn.

She hates him for it.

She hates the very sight of him.

She excuses herself and moves into the brush, taking her rifle and settling on a felled log.

There, alone, truly alone for the first time in two years, Santana finds the sobs bubbling up within her. She crumples into herself, muffling the cries with her palms pressed flat against her mouth.

A warm body suddenly settles beside her. Santana shuts her eyes; tries to will her away. Rachel Berry stays, stronger than she seems as she pulls Santana into her, until Santana has no strength to push her away.

She sobs harder, raking in a wet breath as she turns into Rachel and clings to her, digging into her nape.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says, just like before. "I'm so sorry."

Just like before, she presses kisses against her cheek, her shoulder, the corner of her mouth.

When Santana pushes up and looks into Rachel's face, she beholds streaked tears and genuine sympathy.

Rachel's palm moves to her face, wipes at the wetness, so intimate and loving that Santana can't stand it.

"Why did he have to make it and she didn't?" she snaps, voice stained with misery.

Rachel's lower lip trembles. She doesn't answer.

"Just leave me alone."

Santana pulls out of her grasp and stares ahead, unseeing, tears silently running down her cheeks.

Rachel doesn't move, sitting beside her until she hears Finn call out. Then, and only then, does Rachel grab hold of her.

"Leave me alone."

"I'll leave you alone when you're safe in the tent. Not before."

Santana smirks bitterly, but has no strength to argue.

* * *

"I still can't believe it. You and Santana, after all this time."

In Finn's guest tent, Santana lies quietly. Outside, there are sounds of fire crackling and Finn and Rachel's hushed voices, loud enough to carry through the fabric of the tent.

"We were together after the explosion happened. It just made sense to stick together."

"How did you two manage to travel together this long and not kill each other? You hated each other in high school."

"We didn't hate each other."

"Rachel…"

"We didn't always see eye to eye but Santana and I were never enemies. And besides, she's saved my life countless times, Finn. And I hers. We're a team. Partners."

"Allright, I get it. You're besties."

"Through necessity, but yes."

"You think she's okay?"

Rachel doesn't answer right away. There's another pop from the fire, and then, "Finn, how do you think she is? Her soul mate is dead."

"Soul mates? Really?"

"Yes, soul mates. What would you call it?"

"Best friends, I guess."

"Lovers."

"They were lovers with the whole damn school."

"Finn…"

"I'm just saying."

"You know Brittany was different."

"I guess."

"She never said anything but I know she was always hoping she was still alive. That they would reconnect."

"It's crazy, isn't it, meeting up like this?"

"It's definitely a surprise. I'm so glad to see you, Finn."

"Guess we're the lucky ones, huh? To get a second chance?"

Santana finds the IPOD that she's stolen from Finn's pack, and with a click, drowns out the rest of the conversation with Linkin Park.

It's the first time she's heard music in months.

It's a bittersweet experience.

* * *

The conversation that starts the issue with Brittany is one she should have seen coming.

"Will you go to prom with me?"

Checking her make up in her locker, Santana doesn't think much of the question.

"I'm already going to the prom with you," she says, rolling her eyes. "Remember? I got Matt and Mike to rent the limo. We're all going together."

She focuses on her gloss until she realizes Brittany hasn't responded. Santana finally pauses and glances over.

Teeth digging into her lower lip, Brittany leans into the locker. "No, I don't mean like… a group thing. I mean go together."

Santana frowns, unsure what to think. "What do you mean?"

Brittany rolls her eyes like she's stupid. "What do you think I mean?"

It doesn't click right away. When it does, Santana feels her cheeks flush and her lips purse.

"Come on, Britt. We talked about that. Remember? We talked about having fun right now and then worrying about the rest of it later."

And now Brittany looks insulted. "What if that's fun for me? You said we couldn't do it because it'd be gay, but Kurt's practically humping his boyfriend in the halls all morning and they're gonna be Prom Kings!"

"Britt, come on." Santana glances around the halls, and then leans forward, taking a moment to gently brush her finger against the soft skin of Brittany's cheek. "In a few months we'll graduate and be on our way to Berkeley. We have our whole lives for that. We can wait."

Brittany just looks at her. Santana's knowing smirk fades when she realizes that for the first time in forever, she has no idea what Brittany is thinking.

"What?" she asks, exasperated and unnerved.

Brittany hugs her books to her and shrugs. "I don't want to wait."

She ducks her head and turns away.

When Brittany starts to date Mike Chang seriously, Santana thinks it's a punishment. Brittany pushing her resolve. Making her point.

Santana thinks she can hold out as long as Brittany can, because Brittany wants her. Brittany LOVES her.

She knows what will fix it. All she has to do is agree to be Brittany's girlfriend.

She won't. Santana has a plan and she knows better and Brittany just needs to follow it. They're meant to end up together, Santana isn't so dumb that she doesn't know that. But they have time.

Knowing that doesn't stop her from trying to cut Mike's balls off.

And then Rachel drags her into a choir room over it and their time runs out.

* * *

Her eyes open when she feels a gush of cold air. Santana lifts her head, and glances back to see Rachel staring at her. Without a word, Rachel crawls inside and closes the flap behind her.

The numbness that's overtaken her allows her no expression. Feeling defeated, angry, and exhausted, she just turns back and puts her head down.

Fabric rustles, as Rachel settles down. The warmth of Rachel as she presses in close is more confusing than comforting.

"Why aren't you sleeping with your boyfriend?"

Rachel quietly exhales. "Santana, just try and sleep."

"I don't need your pity, Rachel."

A moment later, Rachel's turned into her. Her arm curves around her waist, her nose tilts into her nape.

Fucking Rachel Berry is actually spooning her. Like she fucking owns her. Like she has every fucking right when Finn is alive and Brittany is dead.

"This isn't pity."

Santana's eyes open. Rachel's hand, spread against her abdomen, burns with warmth.

"What is it, then?" She pushes up to her elbows and turns, until she's looking at Rachel's shadowed face. When she lowers her head, presses her lips to Rachel's, the other woman responds instantaneously.

But Rachel isn't kissing her like she wants to fuck her. She's careful and slow, like Santana's made of fucking glass. She breaks free and glares, shoving at Rachel until Rachel's on her back and Santana can settle on top of her.

She tries again, kissing Rachel wantonly, and noting with bitter triumph that Rachel's begun to writhe underneath her. "Guess that one time with Finn wasn't all it's cracked up to be. I know what you mean. He wasn't that impressive when I fucked him either." Rachel jerks back, stricken. The validation and thrill Santana feels is petty, but she doesn't care.

When she kisses Rachel again, it's a fucking assault. Rachel stops kissing her back and Santana doesn't care about that either.

Her mouth drags away from Rachel's and her hands palm Rachel's breasts roughly.

"Santana-"

She sucks at Rachel's neck, hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Santana!"

Rachel shoves her hard.

"What?" she hisses.

"No." Rachel's fingers clamp on her shoulders, keeping her back. "Not like this."

Her eyes grow cold. "Not like what?" Rachel stays quiet, but her grip remains strong. "Oh, I get it. Now that Finn's back, you don't need to dabble in homosexuality?"

Rachel actually winces. She pushes Santana off of her.

"I'll be as much of a friend to you as I can be. But I'm not going to let you sleep with me just so you can pretend it's Brittany."

The pain hits in such a deep way it leaves her breathless.

"Don't for a second think you'd even compare." Into the silence she continues. "Why don't you go sleep with your soldier boy, Rachel? Let him fuck you while he chants about his mail man."

The slap stings her hard. Her eyes water from the pain of it, and she's glad for it.

She doesn't have to see Rachel leave.

* * *

In the morning, she's sitting at Finn's campfire, cleaning her gun. When she hears movement at Finn's tent, she looks up quickly. Rachel stares at her, doe-eyed and vulnerable.

Santana looks away, but she grits her teeth as she waits. When Rachel gets close enough, she manages to eek out, "I'm sorry."

Rachel doesn't respond right away. She sits down next beside her and watches Santana work.

"Please. I've heard worse from you." Santana can't argue that. "When we get to the base, I want to stay there."

Santana falters. She wills her focus to stay on her gun. "Fine."

"We can't keep going on like this. We've been lucky. But eventually that's going to run out."

"Fine."

"I mean, we've survived for so long I think we've forgotten how to just live."

"Rachel." Santana finally looks at her. Rachel looks morose and afraid, like Santana is going to shoot her or burst into tears. "I said fine."

Rachel closes her mouth; puts her hand in her lap.

"We only stayed together this long because we had to."

"Is that what you think?"

There's something in the way that Rachel asks that. Petulant and a little hurt, and after two years, Santana's gotten used to it. Used to her. She knows how to stroke down Rachel's ruffled feathers. It's almost instinctive.

Her smile is a small one. "We also kicked some serious ass together."

She catches Rachel's eyes and holds the stare. Slowly, Rachel's eyes darken and a smile forms on her lips.

"We were amazing together," she agrees gruffly.

Finn comes out of his tent, looking too happy and too idiotic to be worth Santana's attention.

Ignoring the tightness in her chest, she breaks Rachel's gaze and goes back to cleaning her gun.


	3. Chapter 3

**PART III**

She's been alone with Rachel so long she doesn't know how to be with anybody else.

Santana Lopez used to be the queen of McKinley High. She was the Head Bitch In Charge, and when she walked down the hallways, the masses parted for her like she was fucking royalty.

Now, the very sight of strangers is enough to terrify her.

The base itself is less than a thousand people, including the soldiers. Finn told them that.

Standing at the heavily fortified entrance, looking at the militia members and their guns and the people walking around like nothing fucking happened, it feels like a mob.

As she stands stock still, willing herself not to panic and run, a slim hand slips into hers. Rachel grips her hard, tangling digits. She glances over, and discovers Rachel's eyes wide, emotions playing over her expressive face like a movie on a screen.

Instinctively, Santana squeezes and brings her in, until Rachel's pressed in slightly behind her. Rachel clutches her like a she's a life jacket.

"Guys? It's okay." Finn smiles at them both, and spreads his arms wide. "Welcome home."

It doesn't fucking feel like home.

* * *

They pull her and Rachel apart for 'debriefing'. A military officer questions Santana like she's a POW, and when it's over, grimly tells her she can't have her guns in here.

"Too many people got too used to their guns," he says quietly. "This isn't the wild west. But I'm impressed. You've got a fighting instinct. We could use people like you, if you want to join up. Then you get to keep your gun."

* * *

Her skin is crawling. She feels naked. Like her arm is cut off.

It's exactly how she felt two years ago when she lost Brittany.

And now there's fucking people EVERYWHERE and when he assigns her her bedroom and lets her go, she searches every face for Rachel Berry.

Finn finds her first, and Santana feels so much like a trapped wild animal that she's almost relieved to see him.

"Where's Rachel."

"Don't worry." He smiles wide, handsome and sweet. "She's fine. They're assigning her a room and debriefing her, just like you. You'll see her soon enough."

Santana rubs absently at her scarred forearm. It's a nervous tick. Finn sees it.

"I still can't believe it. It's … a miracle." Santana stops rubbing. Finn looks so genuinely HAPPY to see her.

"It's not a miracle," she tells him flatly. "Rachel and I survived because there wasn't another option."

Finn stares at her. He breaks out into a wide smile. "They told me you might be joining up. Makes sense. You're still a bad ass, aren't you?"

Santana stares at him, wills him to go away by the force of her glare. Finn just stays.

* * *

After the first decent shower she's had in weeks Santana, dressed in clean clothes, heads to her assigned room; twin bunk beds in a dormitory that used to house college kids.

When Santana twists the knob and pushes open the door, she finally sees Rachel, sitting awkwardly on the bottom bunk.

Their eyes meet, and Santana is flooded with such a sense of relief that it nearly brings her to her knees.

Her hand tightens hard around the doorknob. She doesn't trust herself to walk.

Rachel launches to her feet, takes a couple steps toward her, and then suddenly stops.

Santana can only stare stupidly, waiting for the dizziness to pass and her strength to return.

She has the ridiculous urge to run into Rachel's arms like some movie cliché and never, in two years, has she had that feeling.

Because Rachel's never been more than two feet away.

It's a terrifying realization.

"Hi," she manages, and lowers her gaze, focuses on coming inside and closing the door behind her. "Are you okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess. At my debriefing they told me that they could use teachers."

Teacher. Of course. Santana feels the unmistakable urge to smile and squelches it.

"What about you?" Rachel prompts.

"What do you think?" she asks. Rachel just stares at her, and Santana says with a 'duh' in her voice, "Military."

"They're not going to make you shave your head, right?" Rachel sounds so damn mortified at just the thought.

"No." Santana stares at the beds. She glances at Rachel, at Rachel's things neatly piled near the bottom bunk. "I thought you were going to stay with Finn."

Rachel looks momentarily shocked. Her eyes flit down to the floor, then back up. "I'm… I…"

"What?"

Rachel's chin comes up. Her lip juts out. "I'm not."

It's a fair answer. Rachel doesn't elaborate.

Santana can feel her gaze burning on her. With a certainty that she doesn't feel, she flings herself up on the top and turns toward to the wall.

"I'm exhausted," she says, and shuts her eyes.

Rachel doesn't respond. The light clicks off. She isn't aware she's holding her breath until she feels the bunk move and hears Rachel settle onto her bed.

Curling into herself, she opens her eyes.

* * *

Sleep doesn't come. For the past two years, she's lived her life like a damned Siamese twin, and it's a habit she doesn't know how to break.

She's in a fucking military compound and she doesn't feel safe because there's no gun under her pillow and there's no girl beside her.

It's some PTSD bullshit and it's turned her into a damned Rachel Berry junkie, and it's pathetic.

Underneath her, she hears a dramatic, overbearing sigh, and suddenly out of the darkness, Rachel speaks. "This is ridiculous."

Santana pushes up, watches through the shadowed room as the skimpy wooden frame of the bed creaks, and the brunette head of Rachel Berry peeks up at her.

The sight causes her breath to quicken, her heart rate to spike.

"What are you doing?" she rasps, intending to sound acidic and failing miserably.

Rachel doesn't stop. She pulls herself onto Santana's bed and crawls over her. For a tense second, she simply stares. Then, she matter-of-factly lets herself drop into the crook of Santana's side, curling up against her.

The sensation feels so much like home Santana is struck dumb. She tries to speak. Tries to tell Rachel Berry to get the hell out of her bed. That their codependence is ridiculous and bordering on plain crazy. That they both need therapy and they shouldn't be feeling this.

It all gets stuck in her throat and what comes out instead is a relieved, confused bleat of a sigh that only makes Rachel snuggle in closer.

She smells like cheap shampoo and soap.

"I've forgotten how to sleep without you," Rachel says suddenly.

Santana should argue.

Instead, she just feels like she's got her arm back. And suddenly her eyes close and she's so damn sleepy, she drifts off without realizing it.

* * *

She's brought to awareness by the sensation of touch. Her eyes open, eyelids flutter in drowsy appreciation at the feel of Rachel's fingers smoothing along her cheek. In their sleep, they've curled into each other. Her arm slings possessively over Rachel's hip, and Rachel's dark eyes just stare, as if she's trying to memorize every feature.

"They say it's natural," Rachel whispers. "The two of us have been through so much trauma together, we're going to feel this intense bond."

She keeps touching. Weighted by sleepiness, Santana lets it happen. Her eyes close in appreciation.

"Sure," Santana mumbles, and thumbs the curve of Rachel's hip, lazily tracing circles in the fabric.

Rachel's thumb slides across her nose, and lands gently on her lip. Santana's eyes open. Inches away, Rachel's half buried in her pillow, but the look in her eyes is unmistakable.

Ever so slightly, Santana puckers her lips; presses a kiss to the pad of Rachel's thumb.

Rachel doesn't pull away.

When Santana's fingers spread against her hip, pull slightly, Rachel's body comes willingly.

When her mouth meets Santana's, the kiss is almost chaste. There is a delicate press of lips that deepens only slightly when Rachel's takes her lower lip between hers and sucks lightly.

Santana feels it between her legs. Her body suddenly aches, and she sighs, inviting Rachel in.

Hands press against her cheek, tilting her head back as Rachel's pushes forward, tongue sweeping across her teeth, until Santana is flat on her back and Rachel's rolled herself on top of her.

Her shirt rides up, and she smiles against Rachel's lips when the other woman brushes against the bared skin.

Rachel's answering smile is fleeting, but expansive, and it disappears just as quickly when her fingers smooth up and find the small mound of Santana's breast.

Santana's brow arches cockily. Rachel grins, accepts the challenge.

Feather light kisses press against her mouth, her jaw, down her neck, as Rachel's fingers lift the shirt. She mouths Santana's bare stomach, and Santana stretches against the ministrations, hiking in her breath when Rachel's lips bump against her nipple, before she engulfs it completely.

"Fuck," she groans, and instinctively grabs for Rachel's head, tangling her fingers into Rachel's thick locks and arching underneath her. She hears Rachel chuckle, and answers in a hiss when Rachel's fingers reach down without warning to press into her damp underwear.

The sudden bang on the door is so unexpected she doesn't understand what's happened at first.

Rachel's head lifts.

"Rachel?" The banging continues. "Santana? Are you up?"

Their eyes meet in sudden realization. "Finn," Rachel breathes, and scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping down the frame as she straightens herself.

Dazed, Santana can only watch dumbly, as Rachel gives her a wild look. "Just a minute, Finn!"

She rushes for the door. Santana's brow furrows.

Rachel opens the door, and her voice is so oddly pitched, Santana knows she's wearing an idiotic expression to match. "Hi!"

"Hey!" Finn grins at her, and through the crook of the door, lowers himself in to press a kiss to Rachel's cheek. Santana feels something cold flush through her. She pushes up, rolls down her shirt as Finn smiles at her. "Morning, San!"

Her mouth quirks in response.

"I wanted to take you guys to breakfast." His smile is wide and radiant for Rachel. "How'd you guys sleep?"

"Fine!" Rachel glances at her, all wide-eyes and panic. "Umm… could you give us a minute? Let us get dressed?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure." Finn smiles, and keeps smiling even as Rachel places a hand on his chest and shoves him out the door. "I'll wait out here!"

Rachel slams the door shut.

She whirls and leans against it, looking spent and worried and fucking agonized.

Santana feels like a damn idiot.

"This is stupid," she finds herself saying, throwing off the covers and vaulting off the bed.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean?" she asks. "Do you think it's fucking natural that you can't sleep by yourself? Do you think Finn will understand it?" Rachel can only stare at her, looking lost and unsure. Santana feels something like dread fill her. "Are you ever planning on telling him?"

Rachel's mouth opens, ready to speak, before she seems to lose steam, and closes it again. "It's complicated," she manages weakly. "You know that."

She wants not to feel absolutely devastated. She wants the ache in her heart to go away. She wants to be anything than what she is, disappointed and idiotic and feeling like she's been fucking dumped.

Sucking in her breath, she turns away from Rachel and says in the most even tone she can muster, "No, it's not."

"San-"

"If you want to be with Finn, he needs to be enough for you."

Because that's always been Rachel's problem. She wants everything too much.

Santana hates that she can identify with it.

"Santana." Rachel's tone is soft, hurt. "That's not fair."

The statement is too much. She turns on Rachel, grips her pants and nearly flings them at her. "Fair? What's fucking fair? That Brittany loved me and wanted to be with me and because I wanted to be fucking popular I never told her I loved her? That she died before we could even be together? Do you think it's fair to Finn that he finds the love of his life and she's fucking the girl that took his virginity instead? That all our friends and family are DEAD? What's fucking FAIR, Rachel?"

The rant exhausts her. She's breathing hard and wounded and Rachel only stares at her, with her big beautiful brown eyes, speechless for once in a lifetime.

Santana licks her lips, sucks in her breath, and lowers her voice. "Seriously, Rachel. We don't need each other anymore. You're lucky. You got a second chance with Finn. If you want it, then you need to take it. Don't make the same mistake I did and think you've got time. You don't." She looks at her jeans, thumbs at the seam, and makes a decision. "I'm getting another room."

She jerks on her pants and shoulders her way past Rachel.

When Finn calls out to her, she ignores him.

* * *

It's not like it was before.

Santana thrives on control. She and Rachel spent months in quarantine and then a year on the run and they answered to no one but themselves.

Logically, it's natural to feel like this. To feel insecure and unsure and anti social. To bury herself in military drills and the comfortable weight of a rifle.

Santana's no stranger to feeling alone in a crowded room.

She sees Rachel on the base. Most often she sees her with Finn, or whenever she goes by the education building.

Rachel always meets her eyes. Always offers a wave and a smile. Santana nods back, but she doesn't talk to her.

She still feels like her arm is missing, but after a month, she's learned to sleep through the nights.

She's in the cafeteria, thumbing her way through a Kindle (Alice in Wonderland), when a shadow obscures the light and a flier falls in her lap.

"So I come back from a two month scouting mission and I see this. A USO Concert hosted by Rachel Berry? Now I know I've gone crazy."

Santana jerks her head up. Noah Puckerman, looking like some Jarhead with his muscle tee and shorn head, smiles down at her.

She's too shocked to say much of anything. His grin is kind and cocky and everything Puck used to be.

"Who was the idiot who gave you a fucking gun, Santana?"

Relief and shock and joy courses through her in such quick succession she's dizzy. She lets both the Kindle and the flier fall to the floor as she launches into his arms.

When he laughs and hugs her back, she's so grateful and happy that she sticks her tongue down his throat.

* * *

They fuck in his room.

That's exactly what it is. That's all it is.

They fuck in the frenzied, furious way that is all bites and groans and quick, hard orgasms.

It's what Santana knows, and when it's over, she falls against his naked body, sweaty and spent, and cries.

He holds her, whispers gently in her ear, and it occurs to Santana how much she missed him.

Later, she lies nude on his bed as he sorts through his pack and settles on the bed cross-legged, handing her a shoddy printout that's worn and wrinkled.

It's a page torn out from their sophomore yearbook. A picture of the Glee Club. The original twelve Gleeks.

Santana's eyes moisten and she sighs, gently tracing Brittany's sunny features. Her eyes flit to Rachel, who looks ridiculous with her perfect smile and rigid posture.

"And then there were four." When she glances up, Puck's smile is bittersweet. "Yours if you want it. I feel like a fucking fag carrying it around."

She rolls her eyes, and blinks away her sudden tears. "Thanks." She folds it back up carefully, and places it on the dresser. "I can't believe I'm actually glad to see you."

"Yeah, you too," he drawls sarcastically. "Check it out though, I'm a fucking bad ass now. Killing people and shit? Those Crazies got nothing on the PuckerMan." Santana's amused despite herself, laughing when he flexes for her.

"You're such an asshole."

He waggles his eyebrows. Santana smacks his arm. "I gotta admit though, you deserve a fucking medal of honor." When she glances at him questioningly, he elaborates. "Harboring Rachel Berry for a fucking year? Dude, if it was her, me and a gun?"

"Says the guy who actively tried to get in her pants for two years."

"Do you remember the skirts she used to wear?"

Santana does. Her smile falters, before she presses her lips together and sighs. "It's just one of those fucked up things, you know? We kinda got knocked into things together. There were so many people trying to kill us… I kinda forgot how annoying she was. Two years of that, you get used to her."

She stops talking when she realizes Puck is staring at her.

"What?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Dude," he begins, signs of exasperation in his tone. "Tell me you did not tap that."

Santana arches a brow. Puck guffaws.

"No shit?" he whispers, and smacks the mattress. "Holy fuck, no shit!?"

"Jealous?"

"Fuck, yeah!" Puck grins, looking like an idiot as his flaccid cock jiggles as he stands up, holding up his hand for a high-five. "Don't leave me hanging. Come on, we're so doing shots!"

It's classic Puck, and so achingly familiar, Santana kisses him instead.

* * *

She stumbles back to her room, a little drunk and battling a headache, feeling more like herself than she has in two fucking years, when she sees an apparition that looks like Rachel Berry sulking around her door.

She pauses, blinks, and glares, and when Rachel doesn't disappear, barks out, "What do you want?"

Rachel jumps, flushing slightly when Santana approaches her. Her expression changes as Santana comes closer. "Are you drunk?"

Santana blinks. Rachel is back to wearing those little skirts, and her slurred mind recalls Puck and his comment. She finds herself smirking.

"Yeah," she said, tone acidic. "I'm drunk. What do you want, Rachel?" She fumbles for her key card. Rachel grabs it from her hand inserts it into the lock. "Thank you."

"Maybe I should wait until you're sober."

"Maybe you should just tell me right now." Santana stumbles into her room. Rachel follows behind her.

"You were with someone."

"I was with Puck," she says, and feels stupidly happy that Rachel looks shocked.

"Noah?"

"PUCK!" she says again, shoving a finger in her chest. Rachel glances down, and Santana flicks her nose. "Made you look."

"Noah's back?"

Santana falls into the bottom bunk, drowsy and exhausted. "Noah's back," she responds dryly. "We caught up."

When she doesn't hear a word from Rachel, she lifts her head. Her old buddy is still standing in the middle of the room, staring at her like it's a contest.

"So you…"

Santana grimaces and pushes herself up to her elbows. "Yes," she says, and tries valiantly not to slur. "We…" It's too much effort. Her head falls back.

"Santana, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"It's a fantastic idea. I forgot how awesome it is just to fuck someone. You know? No strings attached. No feelings. Just fucking. Nothing like with you and me. Can you get my boots off?"

When Rachel just stares at her, Santana blinks at her and wiggles her foot pointedly.

Rachel finally comes forward, jerking to life to settle on the bed and tug at her laces. "Santana, as you may have noticed by the flyers I've posted, I've decided it would be extremely beneficial for the moral of this compound to have a concert. Since there's four of us that used to be in Glee, I think it would be therapeutic if we worked on a few numbers together." It comes off like a well rehearsed pitch, but Rachel says it in a high squeak and the words run together. Santana comes out of it cross-eyed.

"What the what?"

Rachel tugs off a boot. "You smell like him."

"Of course I smell like him. I fucked him." Rachel's speech finally registers. "And that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard. I'm not fucking singing with you." The other boot gets tugged off with so much force she winces. "Ouch! Bitch, that hurt!"

"Sleeping with Puck is the stupidest idea I've ever heard. Santana, he's a walking STD!"

"At least he knows what to do with his winkie! Finn couldn't thrust his way out of a paper bag!"

"I have no idea what that means."

"Point taken. I mean made. I mean I'm right and Finn's stupid." She wriggles her toes and blinks at Rachel. Rachel's hair is glossy and her lips are plump, and her cheeks burn, making her expression brilliant. "When did you get so fucking hot?"

She says it angrily. Rachel just smiles, this weird smirk that's almost sad. She leans into Santana, and it's then that Santana realizes that she's touching her; the first time in a month.

With a ragged gasp, she focuses on Rachel's hand on her thigh, warming her skin even through her pants.

"You're stupid."

Santana blinks, thrown out of her reverie when she realizes Rachel's just insulted her. "Huh?"

"You're also right." Rachel swallows hard. "I want everything too much."

Suddenly Rachel's bent over, pressing her lips against hers, hard.

Santana freezes, and then sinks into the kiss, opens her mouth and groans when just as quickly, Rachel pulls away.

"And it's not fair," she hears Rachel whisper.

Before she can quite register what's happened, Rachel is off the bed and out of her room.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART IV**

"I told Rachel I'm doing the concert." Puck plops down beside her, dropping his tray of food next to hers and straddling the bench. "You need to do it too."

Santana blinks, registers the comment, and frowns. "Seriously? You're joining the shipwreck?"

He shrugs uncaringly. "She's right. It'd be good for morale. Plus I'm a stud no matter what, but there's a five to one guy-chick ratio out here. I gotta do shit to stand out."

Santana's mouth morphs into a smirk. "I didn't think you were having a problem with that."

He doesn't smile back. Instead, Puck shifts, glancing away before looking at her."You didn't tell me you fucking love each other."

The frank way he says it makes her stomach drop. Her face straightens immediately. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Puck snorts. "Really? Come on." He stares at her with such unnerving intensity, she can't hold the stare.

"I told you that we slept together," she admits, her cheeks flushed. "Once. It happened. It's over. She's with Finn, the big fucking love of her life now. Remember him? Your buddy in the gay chorus?"

"Mmhmm. You know, Santana, I always thought you were a bad ass. Like me. I never thought you were a coward."

Her eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"You think I don't know what you're doing? It's fucking textbook." Santana stares at him stonily. Brow arching, he continues. "When we were blitzed you told me Brittany wanted to be with you. Then she died and it was too late."

Santana's eyes water before she can help herself, and she sucks in a breath like she's been hit. "Puck," she begins, warning in her tone.

"And it hurt so fucking bad that you tell yourself you can't feel that again. You're like an island. Except you aren't. You've spent two years attached at the hip with Rachel and fucking surviving, and now you're in love with her and instead of learning your lesson and manning up and fighting for her, you pussy out."

"Puck, shut up."

"Look, if it was me? I'd be thanking my fucking lucky stars that I got a second chance. Then I wouldn't be a pussy and I'd take what's mine before it's too late and I spent the rest of my life regretting it twice. I'm just saying."

There's a hard, painful lump in her throat that makes it impossible to speak. Puck regards her.

"And the Rachel I remember? Didn't fuck anyone. Not unless she loved them. Otherwise I would have hit that the first day." With a resolute nod, he drops a flier in her lap and swings his leg over the bench. "Fucking chicken again? What is this, a slum?"

* * *

When she finds herself outside of Rachel's classroom, she's damn aggravated with herself.

It takes her almost a minute to gather up the courage to knock.

Rachel calls out to come in, and Santana does, twisting open the knob like she's tearing off a band-aid, fast and rough, to duck her head into Rachel's domain.

Rachel glances up, and the look on her face when she recognizes her reminds Santana of a besotted tween – excited and hopeful and slightly afraid.

"Santana," Rachel breathes, and Santana finds herself breathing raggedly, clutching the doorknob so hard her fingers ache.

"I'll do your stupid concert, okay?" she blurts out, and feels like such a fool she doesn't wait for Rachel's reaction.

"Santana, wait!"

Face flaming, teeth grinding, Santana falters, and against her better judgment, waits as Rachel rushes around the desk and comes up to her, widening the opening in the doorway and staring up at her with a thrilled grin.

"What?" she asks.

Rachel stares at her, ears tipped pink, and suddenly she launches herself into Santana's arms, taking her offguard and nearly squeezing the life out of her.

"Thank you," Rachel whispers.

Her breath tickles Santana's ear, and her breasts brush hers and she suddenly wants to KILL Noah Puckerman, because when the hell has the asshole ever been right?

* * *

The first rehearsal is painful.

Finn and Rachel go through 'Don't Stop Believing', but there's only Puck and Santana backing them up, and it's clear as always that there are eight voices missing, and no Mr. Schuester to glare at them for being offbeat.

Finn goes flat on a note; his voice is tight, vocal chords gone unused in years.

Rachel, who just months ago was afraid she'd forgotten how to sing, opens up her mouth and fills the room with her perfect pitch. It's bittersweet and somehow enchanting. Santana doesn't realize she's staring until she accidentally notices Puck smirking at her.

The choir room seems filled with ghosts. Mike slides across the linoleum, and Kurt sashays past her with a ridiculous scarf. Mercedes is hauntingly absent during 'Somebody to Love', her glory-note lingering only in their minds.

It's one of their mainstays, and it sounds hollow and unfulfilled. Finn grows frustrated fast.

"We're gonna suck," he complains, and Rachel just looks at him mournfully. Puck tells him to stop being a pussy, and when Finn looks affronted, storms out of the room in a perfect Rachel Diva fit, Puck just shakes his head and follows.

Clutching her bottle of water, Santana lowers herself onto a chair. From one side of the room to another, she imagines Brittany twirling, catches blond hair in the sunlight and white teeth, a blinding smile that grabs her around the heart and squeezes pure emotion.

Rachel settles beside her, looking tired and shaken. "Finn's right," she breathes, resting her chin on her palm. "This isn't going to work. We sound incomplete."

Santana blows out a ragged breath. "We are, Rachel. The arrangements were made for twelve people."

"I want this to work. I want this to be a tribute to them. To our past."

It's so idealistic. Santana can't find the heart to tell her it's pathetic and depressing. "You were right, you know." Rachel glances at her, gnawing on her lower lip. "You said that I thought Brittany was the only person who would ever love me, no matter what. It's true." She doesn't expect a disagreement. When Rachel says nothing, she just smiles bitterly and ignores the pang in her heart. "So I took advantage. I thought I had all the time in the world and it turns out, I didn't. I was stupid and I'll carry that regret for the rest of my life. And I once told myself I wouldn't regret anything." She hears Rachel exhale noisily beside her. "But we're not the same people we were. We can't sing these songs because they're not ours anymore."

She finally glances up, and sees Rachel staring at her with shining, dark eyes. "So what should we sing?"

Santana shrugs. "New songs? Songs that aren't about Brittany, or Mike or Kurt but about who we are. What we've become. How we've changed. How they changed us."

Rachel's eyes are nearly liquid now. "Careful, Santana," she whispers, soft and reverent. "I might think you have a heart."

Santana can only laugh at the irony when she finally admits, "I think I said goodbye to that a long time ago."

* * *

Rachel instructs them to find songs to fit their voices, and they do.

By the fourth rehearsal, they sound whole.

Finn starts to smile again, and when the last song ends and Rachel tells them that they're ready, he playfully shoves at Puck and slings his rifle over his shoulder, heading out the door and waving to them both.

"You look confused." Santana blinks. At the piano, Rachel shoots her a knowing smile. "I lived with you, slept with you, showered with you for two years, Santana. Don't tell me I don't know when you look confused."

A flush stains Santana's cheeks, and it feels utterly moronic, to blush like a damn school girl in front of Rachel Berry.

"I'm just wondering why Finn isn't waiting around for you." Rachel arches a brow, and Santana folds her arms, looks at her knowingly. "Isn't that what boy scouts do? Wait around? Carry your bags, gay shit like that?"

"Boyfriends do," Rachel acknowledged. "Friends don't." When Santana inhales, glances at Rachel sharply, the other girl swallows visibly and glances down at her sheet music. "You were right. I wanted everything too much. If I wanted a second chance, I had to make a choice, before I ran out of time."

Something that feels strangely like hope wants to burgeon in Santana's chest. She squelches it down, refuses to feel it.

"Rachel…"

"You were also right about the fact that we're different people now. Finn and I both are. I'm not the starry-eyed ingénue and he's not the hunky male lead. We're adults now. We've had two years of traumatic experiences to shape us and it's turned us into different people. Who I've become isn't the person who's best suited for Finn."

Santana glances helplessly at the door, at a loss to understand Rachel's monologue.

"But you were wrong about one thing. Brittany isn't the only person who would love you, no matter what."

This time, Rachel actually looks at her. The pointed glare speaks volumes, and before Santana can quite process what Rachel is truly saying, the other woman presses play on her IPOD speaker, and the lyrical sounds of Tom Petty fill the room.

"Do you remember this? We would have won Regionals with it." As the harmonica plays, Rachel goes through those same damn steps. "_People come, people go, some grow young, some grow cold._"

Santana stands, frozen, and that hope she wants to suppress so badly bursts through and pushes a smile onto her face that feels so wide it hurts.

"_I woke up in between a memory and a dream. _" Rachel pivots, and reaches for Santana, waiting.

With a dip of her head, and one terrifying step forward, Santana takes Rachel's hand. "_So let's get to the point, Let's roll another joint, Let's head on down the road, There's somewhere I gotta go…And you don't know how it feels… You don't know how it feels…To be me."_

Rachel's eyes meet hers and her smile fades. Her palm turns against hers their fingers are aligned. Deliberately, Rachel slides the digits between Santana's, until they're tangled together. Santana can hear her breath go ragged, before Rachel quietly regards her, waiting.

A phantom voice suddenly rises sharply in her mind, echoing in her ear. _"I don't want to wait anymore." _

She yanks, pulls Rachel into her, and opens her lips against hers. Rachel throws her arms around her shoulders, grips her tight, and kisses her back shamelessly.

One long moment later, Santana breaks the kiss, and wraps her arms tight around Rachel. Her palms spread against Rachel's back and bunches the fabric of Rachel's shirt in her fists, dizzy and afraid to let go.

"I missed you," she hears. "I couldn't breathe without you."

"I love you," she says, fast and terrified and then Rachel's kissing her again, swallowing her words in her mouth and mumbling them back at her. The relief floods her so fast it leaves her weak-kneed, because Santana never realized how scared she really was.

* * *

They live in a world where a virus infects people and turns them into zombies and it's only partially contained, but getting better every day. They live in a highly secured military base, and Santana's traded a cheerleading uniform for a military uniform and a gun. She wears it like she was born in it.

Puck's tattered yearbook photo sits in her back pocket wherever she goes, and when she remembers Brittany, she remembers an angel who brought a smile wherever she went.

When they give their concert, it's for Brittany that she sings Pink's, 'Who Knew'. When it's over, and the surprisingly crowded hall applauds (Puck jokes that they're REALLY hard up for entertainment), Rachel's waiting for her, eyes watering and arms open.

Santana clutches her shamelessly, hides her tears in the crook of Rachel's neck.

Rachel tells her she loves her, and it's suddenly okay.

Their world's a hell but it's all gonna be okay, because it's her and Rachel Berry against the fucking world.

In her more determined moments, Santana likes to think they're kicking its ass.

FIN


End file.
